


Beginnings, Middles, and Ends

by Star_Going_Supernova



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some are not, Temporary Character Death, Various AUs, some are shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Going_Supernova/pseuds/Star_Going_Supernova
Summary: This will be where I put the little snippets I write on tumblr. Each chapter will feature an entirely different story, unless otherwise specified. If there's any that you'd like to see continued, let me know!(Labeled complete as technically none of the bits are WIPs.)This Update: A look through the eyes of a Lost One.





	1. To Fix a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I received a prompt for this: _Will I… will I really get to see Susie? The real Susie, I mean._
> 
> Or; Henry's got a lot on his plate. His friends need him.

Henry looked up at the sound of his office door creaking open. He spun his rolling chair away from the table he’d been hunched over and set his animator’s brush on top of his cluttered desk.

Alice waited for him to address her, half-hidden behind the door. Her eyes briefly flicked over to the occupied table before snapping back to Henry as he stood. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” Henry asked, deliberately placing himself between Alice and his— well, the toons all called them his _patients_ , no matter how much he protested that he wasn’t doing anything even remotely related to what a doctor would. He’d stopped complaining about it when Bendy had shrugged and said, “Better than us callin’ them _victims_.” 

Wringing her hands a bit, Alice said, “I just wanted to see how it’s going.” 

Smiling, Henry knelt down and opened his arms. Without hesitation, Alice fell into his embrace. 

“You have no reason to worry, okay? Norman turned out just fine, and so did all three of the Butcher gang.”

“But… she’s different, isn’t she?” 

“A bit, I suppose, but the concept is the same.” He leaned back and flicked her halo, producing a beautiful note that echoed like church bells. “I know what I’m doing, kiddo. Promise.” 

Alice giggled a bit, relaxing against Henry. “I know. I’m just nervous I guess. If it works, will I… will I really get to see Susie? The real Susie, I mean.”

Henry nodded. “Once I finish properly sorting them out, I’ll be able to separate Susie and Allison.” He’d already explained this to the toons, but he knew that hearing the process again helped with the worry. “Allison wants to stay in their current body, since it looks kinda like her. And I’ve got Susie’s new body all drawn and ready to go. You wanna see it again?” 

She nodded, so Henry stood with her propped on his left hip, like a child. He sat down in his chair and picked up the model sheet bearing Susie’s toonified likeness. 

“She’ll look just like she used to,” Henry reassured Alice as she gingerly took the page from him, “just, y’know. More noodley.” 

Laughing, Alice poked Henry’s arm. “Someday, you won’t be able to make that joke, ’cause you’ll be noodley too.”  

“Yeah,” Henry said, smiling at her, “someday. But for now, I’ve got them to focus on, and Sammy after that, since he’s finally agreed to let me help him.” He started to lift her off his lap to the floor, so he could continue working on saving Susie and Allison.

“And Joey?” 

Henry froze for a second, but quickly recovered. “I’ll talk to him about it again tonight, okay?” He tried not to imagine his best friend, hurting and alone, trapped in the abandoned Level 14. Joey, having turned himself into a deformed version of Bendy, couldn’t quite manage stairs without help, and after his final confrontation with Henry, he’d become trapped in the maze previously inhabited by the Projectionist. Having no better place for him until Joey agreed to not kill anyone, Henry had decided he’d have to stay there for the time being.

Every day, Henry went down to talk to him. Even though Joey seldom responded— and when he did, it was usually with garbled, cutting words— Henry would ramble on about anything he could think of, if only to keep his old friend company. He remained hopeful that Joey would come around eventually, since even though he had all of Level 14’s maze to hide in, he never strayed out of the central chamber while Henry was down there. 

“See ya, Henry!” Alice waved at him as she pulled the door closed behind her. 

Looking back at his patient, Henry saw that they’d fallen into true sleep from the hazy state he kept them in as he repaired the extensive damage to their face. It looked peaceful, and that was rare enough that he didn’t want to wake them. Besides, he could use a bit of a break. 

Leaving Susie and Allison alone, Henry headed for the lift, where he sent himself down to Level 14. 

“Joey?” he called as he stepped up to the railing. 

For a moment, there was only silence, but then Henry heard the faint sound of sloshing approaching— rather rapidly, if you asked him. It was mere seconds before Joey emerged from the maze’s left entrance, instantly slowing down to a pace more along the lines of a reluctant trudge. Henry saw right through him; his friend was excited to see him, no matter how much he pretended not to be. 

Joey screeched at him, looking up at Henry with his ink-covered Bendy-face. 

“Hello to you, too, my friend.” He watched as Joey came to a halt below him, still staring. Smiling a little, while ignoring the ache in his heart at seeing Joey like this, Henry said, “What should we talk about tonight, hm? I’m nearly finished fixing Susie and Allison up. It won’t be much longer until I can separate them. Alice is very excited to finally get to meet Susie, y’know, properly.” 

And he kept talking, and Joey kept listening— as they always did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I am quite fond of this one. There's some solid potential.


	2. A One-Sided Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was, funnily enough, Henry/sleep
> 
> Or; Henry spends this whole little snippet in dreamland. Bendy doesn't know how he feels about that.

Bendy paced restlessly outside a Little Miracle Station. The weak magick on them had worn off years— and over a dozen victims— ago, allowing him to see them, but no matter how many times he lost his prey to one, he never wrenched the door open to steal them away. 

The former employees that were lured here one by one might not appreciate the game they were playing, but Bendy did. And part of their game said that the Stations were safe places. But that didn’t mean he was going to play entirely fair this time, not after the destruction of his cutouts. 

No one had ever made it this far before. Though Alice rearranged the order of her little tasks with each poor man or woman that ended up down here, she’d never gone through all of them, such that she had to resort to the absolute annihilation of Bendy’s property just to keep the game going.

He stared at the little rectangle carved out of the front. With the shadows the way they were, he couldn’t see inside it from his height, but he supposed Henry was likely watching him.

“I wonder if you’ll try to fight me,” he said lowly. “Try to defend yourself one last time. You seem like the type to do it.”

It was true, too. Henry hadn’t seemed truly afraid of anything he’d encountered since entering the studio. In fact, seeing the fake Boris upstairs with his chest blown out caused him the most horror, and he’d been sure Joey had been the one to do it.

Ha. Drew was long gone. The toons were the ones running the show now. 

Some people had screamed. Others had sobbed. A few had even tried bargaining for their lives. Bendy had taken great pleasure in ending all of them. They _deserved_ it. Each former worker that had been lured back was there to pay the price for some sin in the past. 

Using the toons, abusing the toons, being plan old cruel to the toons— in Henry’s case, he’d _abandoned_ them. 

The thought sent Bendy seething. “Was it worth it?” he hissed as he loomed over the box. “Did you find some greener pastures elsewhere when you left us all behind, you traitor?” 

Just as he was about to continue with his pacing, he finally heard something from the Station’s occupant, who had so far remained silent. It took Bendy a moment to recognize what it was: a quiet little snore. 

He crouched down and yanked the door open. Despite the almighty creaking, Henry didn’t stir from where he was slumped against the wall, completely out of it. 

“Henry. C’mon. I’m tryin’ to murder you here, you could at least stay awake.”

Nothing. Bendy sighed and started to reach forward. Maybe a bit of strangulation would make the traitor wake up. 

Just as he did so, however, Henry shifted slightly, perhaps to find a more comfortable position. In the movement, a flash of something in Henry’s hands caught Bendy’s attention. He twisted his head to get a better look. 

It was a picture, small and square. Black and white. But so very familiar. He could remember the day it’d been taken: him, in his on-model form, sitting on one of Henry’s slightly raised shoulders, the man himself beaming up at him despite how many times the photographer had asked him to smile at the camera. 

Why would Henry have that picture, of all things, with him? 

One of Henry’s legs stretched out a bit, sending something small and ink-stained falling to the Station’s floor with a wet _splat_. Bendy picked it up despite himself. 

It was a wallet, and when he opened it out of sheer curiosity— why would Henry have it sitting out, anyway?— a little line of plastic encased pictures unfolded. In each one was a different memory of the studio, captured years ago by a camera. 

There was Bendy, Alice, and Boris, all squished together; Henry with his team of animators; a candid of Henry’s face— filled with wonder and amazement, a tear or two streaking down his smiling cheeks— from the first time one of his animations made it onto the big screen; Henry and Joey, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing in front of the studio. There were others, too, and only one spot was empty— the one that would lay on top when the pictures were all folded up. 

A thought entered Bendy’s head as he crouched there, Henry’s wallet in hand, as Henry remained fast asleep just a foot or two away from the very creature that’d been ceaselessly trying to kill him: _a man who’d abandoned them wouldn’t keep photos like this, so clearly treasured._ __  
  
Bendy stared at Henry, at the dark smudges beneath his eyes, at his skin with a pallor that spoke of his trials, at the looseness of his face in slumber. 

“We’ve been watching you,” he said, even though Henry couldn’t hear him. “You haven’t slept since getting here, even in the rooms you thought were safe. And yet—” he glanced down at the picture clutched between Henry’s fingers, dulled by age and a frequent touch— “you’ve fallen asleep with a monster outside your door.”

Perhaps… they’d been wrong about Henry abandoning them. Unlike the others, who they had all seen first-hand do terrible things, the idea that Henry had abandoned them hadn’t been one they’d come up with. It was something they’d been told. 

“I think we oughta hear your side of this story,” Bendy whispered. He prepared to stand and wait for Henry to wake up, but… the man didn’t look all that comfortable, crammed inside the _Little_ Miracle Station. He sighed. “I’m not going to be able to kill you, am I?” 

But even as he reached in and scooped Henry up, all without him stirring, he thought that might not be such a bad thing. He loped off at a steady pace towards the elevator. He’d send Boris to get Alice and have them meet him and his cargo at the safehouse, where Henry could rest for as long as he needed before facing them. 

Yes. That sounded like a good idea. And maybe if they were lucky, Henry wouldn’t need to be killed after all. But it’d be better to remain neutral until Henry had explained himself.

Bendy abruptly realized how tightly he was still clutching the wallet. Hm. Maybe not as neutral as he’d like. But, maybe that was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you thought or if you'd like to see a continuation or if you have ideas for whatever! :)


	3. Little Birdie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from magicalmonsterhero on tumblr: _“Critical failure! Bendy ignores your offering and attacks you instead!”_

“Critical failure! Bendy ignores your offering and attacks you instead!”

Scowling, Sammy peeled himself off the wall. “No one asked you,” he growled. 

Of all the toons Joey tried to bring to life, the most successful one to date just _had_ to be the annoying parrot from an episode with pirates. Even worse, the parrot’s main gag was spouting off narration when things went wrong.

The parrot flapped its wings and comically stretched its neck. “Warning! The sheep is escaping, repeat, the sheep is escaping!” 

Sammy swore, ignoring the foghorn that blared over his words. “Oh, go bother someone else, you overgrown chicken!”

Squawking indignantly, the parrot fled from the room as soon as Sammy opened the door. 

 • • • • •

“Another one bites the dust! Better luck next time!” the parrot cried as the unfortunate toon on ‘Alice’s operating table shuddered and dissolved. 

Glaring fiercely at it, ‘Alice’ lunged, hands swiping dangerous close. “Hold still,” she said, “so I can find out what makes you tick!”

Bristling in alarm, the parrot wheeled about the room as close to the ceiling as it could go. “Danger,” it screeched, “a challenger approaches!”

‘Alice’ took heed of its words and caught sight of the inky portal forming before the ‘Bendy’ could emerge. She was out the door in seconds, the parrot escaping behind her.

  • • • • •

“Too little, too late!” the parrot said, laughing at ‘Bendy’ as the demon turned away from the secured Little Miracle Station.

“I’ll catch you one day,” he said, in a way that the hiding human wouldn’t be able to understand. “And I’ll pop your head off your spine like one of those darned squeaky toys. We’ll see you what you have to say _then_ , pest.” 

“Liar, liar, pants on fire!” 

‘Bendy’ didn’t respond, instead choosing to trudge off in silence, taking his aura with him.

The parrot settled down on a nearby barrel to preen its boring monochrome feathers. It didn’t take notice of the creak of the Station’s door opening, nor of the man cautiously stepping out. In fact, it was only when a shadow fell over the parrot did it look up into the human intruder’s face.

It opened its beak to spout something or other off, but the stranger spoke first.

“Kiwi? Is that you?” 

She froze as the man reached for her, gently brushing over her wings. As if it was soot, the blacks and grays that made up her body fell off, revealing bright reds and yellows and vibrant greens and blues underneath. 

Kiwi peered up at the man. He seemed familiar, and he was smiling at her. She didn’t think anyone had ever smiled at her before. It could be a trap, though. ‘Alice’ had once acted nice to her in attempt to catch her for dissection. 

She experimentally flapped over to the man’s shoulder. ‘Alice’ had broken character the instant Kiwi had tried to land on her.

But the man only laughed in delight and reached up to continue stroking her feathers, casting away the rest of the dull black and gray and white. 

Kiwi rubbed her head against the man’s cheek. He didn’t yell at her, or get angry, or threaten her. Pleased, she settled down and squawked quietly. 

With a final chuckle, the man started walking down the hallway. “Let’s get back to the lift, and then I can introduce you to Boris in case you haven’t met him yet.”

That sounded nice to Kiwi. The elevator was safe, even she knew that.

“I’m Henry, by the way,” he said.

Henry. That sounded nice to Kiwi, too.


	4. Back to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift to my friend lepetiteinkmango, originally posted on tumblr. 
> 
> Takes place pre- _A Creator's Heart_.

Henry woke up to an intense throbbing headache, meaning from the moment he opened his eyes, he was in a sour mood. The fact that he was crumpled on the floor in one of the studio’s larger rooms didn’t help matters. 

Joey appeared in his field of vision, and if Henry’s memory served him correctly, there was only one logical response to the sight of his friend’s face.

Being groggy and disoriented didn’t stop Henry from snapping his fist out, right into Joey’s nose.

Mercifully, Joey vanished out of his sight from the force of the impact. 

“I can’t _believe_ ,” Henry said, groaning as he pushed himself up, “that you would use me for a ritual after I plainly told you _not to_.”

Clutching his bleeding nose, Joey shrugged. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”

“Not the point. I said no rituals or sacrifices, especially not using me, and what do you do— literally the day after I told you that, no less? You drug my coffee and drag me here.”

They glared at each other, though Henry knew his friend well enough to see that he was sorry for what he’d done. Maybe not regretful, but sorry. 

Joey broke first. Gesturing at his bloody face, he said, “I guess I deserved this.” 

Henry snorted. “You definitely deserved that.” He stepped over to where Joey was still sitting on the ground and crouched. “Now let me check to make sure I didn’t break anything.” 

Smiling slightly, Joey asked, “If you didn’t, are you gonna hit me again?” 

“Depends on if your ritual worked, because my head is killing me, and I’ll be rightly pissed if it was all for nothing in the end.” 

Right on cue, the Ink Machine gave a great groaning heave and spit out a glob of ink. They stared at it. 

“I think it’s moving,” Joey whispered. “It’s supposed to be Bendy, but it might still need some tweaks.” 

The shapeless blob slowly resolved itself into distinct limbs, and they only had a momentary glimpse of pie-cut eyes before the little toon released a staticky sort of shriek and bolted behind the Machine. 

Joey sighed.

Angry as he was with his friend about deliberately drugging his coffee to use him in a potentially dangerous ritual, Henry knew Joey hadn’t been having the best time of it lately. Stress in all corners of his life meant his decision-making skills were more lacking than usual, and since Henry was truly okay— headache aside— he was feeling mostly forgiving. Especially since it looked like he’d managed to break Joey’s nose again. 

He stood up and waved Joey towards the door. “Go see the nurse. I’ll take care of things here.” 

Pushing himself to his feet, Joey grimaced. “I hate going to see the her.” 

“You’re the reason we need an on-site nurse in the first place.”

“But you spend more time in there than anyone—”

“Yeah, _because of you_. Now go.” 

Grumbling all the way, Joey trudged out of the room, leaving Henry alone with whoever had just been brought to life. 

Henry took a deep breath before slowly making his way to where the toon had disappeared to. Trying to be deliberately loud without being intimidating, he made sure to keep his movements calm. 

“Hello?” 

A panicked squeak came from somewhere in the shadows. 

“Hey, it’s all right. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Henry crouched down. “I’m sorry if we scared you, kiddo. We didn’t mean to.” 

Movement, cautious and wary, but towards him nonetheless. Progress. 

“My name’s Henry,” he said. “The idiot who just left was Joey. He won’t hurt you either.” 

Finally, the small toon emerged into the light. He looked a lot like Bendy, with only a few differences here and there. 

“Look at that,” Henry said, smiling gently at him. “You’ve got my eye color.”

The toon squeaked at him, wringing his tail— another difference— between his fingerless hands. 

Henry held out his palm, careful not to get too close or move too quickly. The toon glanced back and forth between his hand and his face.

Sitting down all the way, criss-crossing his legs, Henry wiggled his fingers. “C’mon little buddy, how about a hug? Hugs are nice.”

He didn’t know if it was what he said or not, but the toon inched forward the rest of the way until Henry could gently guide him up into his arms. 

“You need a name, I suppose,” he said as his new friend tucked himself against Henry’s chest. “It wouldn’t be fair to you to try and squeeze you into Bendy’s role. You’re your own person— er, toon. What do you say, buddy?”

He squirmed in Henry’s embrace, though not to try and escape it. Expecting another squeak, Henry’s eyebrows shot up when instead, the toon spoke in a whisper, “Buddy.” 

“Buddy?”

Henry felt him nod. “Yes, me.” 

Beaming, Henry held him away from his body for a moment, to proudly say, “Then I’m very pleased to meet you, Buddy. Welcome to the studio.”


	5. Super Psycho Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey's so very close to getting what he wants. Or rather, _who_ he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for potentially disturbing themes and hints of dubcon. 
> 
> Just a little scene I haven't been able to get out of my head for a while now.

Joey watched several employees dissolve into writhing inky monsters, which he dragged one by one to join the others trapped in the containment area of the Machine.

He stared down at the pentagram, hands on his hips. “A few failures isn’t enough to stop me,” he said. “I’ll just keep going until I find a way that works. And if that means I have to sacrifice a few dozen people before reaching my goal, then so be it. Of course, I already know exactly what produces success.” He turned towards the door. “And that’s up to you, my friend.”

Propped against the wall, a straightjacket restraining his arms with his legs bound and a gag silencing him, Henry glared back at Joey.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Joey told him. “I warned you not to try to leave me.”

He crossed the room and knelt in front of Henry, who flinched away as Joey reached for him with bloody hands.

Ignoring the way Henry strained away from him, Joey cupped his cheeks. A tear slipped out of one of Henry’s closed eyes.

“You can stop it,” Joey whispered, forcing his friend’s face back towards him. “No one else has to die, Henry. All you have to do is say yes to my proposal.”

Henry’s body trembled, and he mindlessly shook his head, making distressed noises in his throat. 

“Hush, now,” Joey said gently, stroking his cheekbones. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I promise.” When Henry still didn’t respond properly, his voice hardened, “Or perhaps you need more demonstrations of what happens if you continue to refuse. Maybe I’ll try Norman, or Susie, or Wally next.”

With a full body jerk, Henry’s eyes flew open, filled with delicious tears and sublime panic. Joey smiled to see his friend so at his mercy.

“You can save them,” Joey promised. “Just… say yes.”

Encouraging Henry to lean forward, he untied the gag around his mouth and let it fall to Henry’s lap.

“Well?” Joey asked.

Henry worked his jaw, probably sore after being locked awkwardly in place for so long, and met Joey’s eyes. “You promise you won’t hurt anyone else?” he asked hoarsely.

“Of course,” Joey said with a smile, as though it was obvious. “Besides, as long as you draw what I want, I won’t have any need to, will I? Now, have we got a deal?”

Henry scoffed. “It’s hardly a deal, Joey. But—” he closed his eyes and seemed to deflate— “yes.”

Joey’s smile turned devilish. “Excellent. I’m so glad you decided to make the right decision. It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you’re tired. We can talk more about the, ah, terms and conditions tomorrow.”

And oh, how wonderful tomorrow would be.


	6. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's got a secret admirer who makes even his worst days better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a gift fic for insanityallegra over on tumblr, because no one deserves to have such a crappy night.

Sammy shoved open the door to his office, grumbling under his breath. It just _had_ to start pouring the moment he stepped out of his car, of course it did. He didn’t often have necessarily good starts to his day, but this was even worse than normal. 

He dropped his bag and peeled his jacket off, getting water all over the floor. Because of the recent heatwave, the studio’s temperature had been lower than normal for the past week, and while he appreciated it then, he sure didn’t now, standing soaking wet with no towel or spare set of clothes.

And things could only get worse, he just knew it.

Turning to his desk, he froze. Perhaps he’d spoken too soon. There was another one, innocently propped up against the radio.

For weeks now, someone had been leaving letters for him. He didn’t know who it was, just that some mornings, without rhyme or reason, a sealed envelope with his name on the front would be waiting for him when he arrived.

The letters contained any manner of content. Some days, their mystery author would excitedly tell Sammy about a cute dog they’d seen, or a great restaurant they’d been to. Others, Sammy would find himself burying his face in his hands to conceal the blush he just _knew_ was rising in his cheeks. Whoever this person was, they weren’t shy about telling Sammy how much they liked him.

Then again, they _were_ doing this anonymously. 

Collapsing into his chair with a soggy squish, he carefully picked up the envelope to avoid getting it wet too, and peeled it open. A small, silly smile broke the grumpy frown on his face. 

It’d be one of _those_ days, then. 

• • • • • 

By the time the week was over, Sammy had decided to finally reach out to his secret admirer. For the first time since he started receiving the letters, Sammy left one of his own. 

To his delight— not that he’d ever admit it— there was a letter the next morning. And this one didn’t just contain rambling, but a response. 

This was how it went for a while, and it wasn’t long before Sammy wouldn’t hesitate to say that he was becoming properly enamored with his pen pal. But they never mentioned stepping out of the shadows, and Sammy didn’t want to bring it up in case the prospect of revealing themself scared them off for good. Sure, there were only so many employees in the studio, but what would he do, go up to each and demand to know if they were his secret admirer?

Yeah, because that wasn’t childish at all.

One afternoon, he was in the employee lounge, nursing a second cup of coffee— it’d been a rough day with the band, and he’d stormed out for a break fifteen minutes ago, and he still wasn’t cooled down enough to return— while Wally was poking around in the fridge and pantry that were part of the kitchen area. 

The presence of the kitchen still amused Sammy. It hadn’t used to be there, but Henry pulled enough all-nighters that Joey panicked over his friend not getting a chance to eat any decent meals. This was one of the few times Joey’s lack of impulse control actually did some good in the world, and if you asked Sammy, based on Henry’s reaction to the whole thing, Joey’d probably gather up the courage to ask Henry out soon. 

Pining boss aside, Sammy watched Wally mutter to himself before jotting some things down on a piece of paper on the counter. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Wally paused in his work— assuming it was actually work, and not just him being, well, himself— and turned to face Sammy. “Making a grocery list. Been doin’ it since they finished building this. Joey said if I did it, I can add a few things for myself that he’ll pick up. It’s not hard, and I know what Henry likes well enough.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Got any requests? You look like you could use a little pick-me-up.” 

Sammy snorted. “Tell Drew to get some more of that cinnamon bread.” He pushed his chair back and stood to fill his mug one last time. 

Wally slid to the side a bit to allow him access to the coffee pot. Sammy absently glanced at Wally’s list, only to freeze, every muscle locking him in place. 

The handwriting of his mystery admirer perfectly matched that of Wally’s. 

A minute passed before Wally seemed to realize that Sammy wasn’t moving. He glanced up at him. “Somethin’ wrong?” 

For a brief moment, Sammy contemplated not saying anything and just going on with his life, pretending like he didn’t know that Wally— _Wally Franks_ , of all people— was leaving him incredibly sappy love letters on his desk. Only, that sounded miserable, and he was rather tired of being miserable all the time. 

Besides, if Joey could go through the trouble to construct an entire kitchen out of the blue because he had a crush, then why couldn’t Sammy speak up on this? 

“Your handwriting,” he simply said. “I recognize it.” 

Frowning, Wally looked back down at the page. Sammy knew the instant Wally understood his meaning, because his cheeks flushed deep red very, _very_ quickly. 

“Ah,” he said. “I, uh—”

“Did you mean it?” Sammy asked, because while he’d abandoned the thought of the letters being a mere prank ages ago— not even Joey could put so much time and effort into something just for a little laugh— the thought of it all being a lie nearly sent his knees shaking. 

To his immeasurable relief, Wally immediately nodded his head. “Yes!” he said, “yes, I— I meant it. All of it. Did, uh, did you?” 

Well, there was really only one way Sammy wanted to answer that. Bending down a bit— he’d never really noticed the height difference between them before, but now that he had, he had to admit he rather liked it— he gave Wally a quick peck on the lips.

“What do you think?” he asked, leaning back just enough to speak. 

Eyes wide, with that delicious blush creeping further down his cheeks, Wally hoarsely said, “I’m guessing you meant it.” 

“Every word,” Sammy promised, his grin positively wicked as Wally eeped. Adorable. 

Well, as long as Wally was amenable, why not uphold his vows? After all, there was really no time like the present.

“Now, c’mon.” Sammy abandoned his coffee cup on the counter to head for the door. There were far better— and more pleasurable— things he could be doing right now than knock back yet another mug of bitterness. 

“But— but what about the band?”

Sammy threw him a look over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and a smirk in place. “The band can wait. I, on the other hand, _cannot_.”


	7. The Nightmare's Just Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a scene from my version of the Sinners and the Saints AU of mine and insanityallegra's on tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I write while in a less-than-stellar mood--primarily anger. Title from the song Monster by Skillet. And a bit of a fun fact: the pain I describe is all from personal experience, just exaggerated a bit for the story.
> 
> **Warning: this is not a happy story. There are clear and detailed depictions of gory violence and pain. Murder and injuries ahead, so proceed with caution.**

When Bendy opened his eyes, he thought everything was going to be okay. The hit to his head that had knocked him out didn’t matter, because Henry was standing right in front of him. He’d get Bendy out of whatever mess he was in now, he just knew it. 

But then his gaze drifted past Henry and locked on Joey in all his crimson madness. He grinned at his Creator, cruel and victorious. 

“You’re awake,” Henry said. “Good. I was worried I hit you too hard.” 

Bendy’s stomach flip-flopped and bottomed out, and his heart felt lodged in his throat. “What?” he whispered hoarsely— because no. No, Henry couldn’t mean what it sounded like. 

Henry smiled, and it was full of condescension. “Did you really think that just because I came out on-model that I’d automatically be on your side? That I would forsake my friends, my family, for _you?_ ” He shook his head and tsked. “You’re a fool if you thought I’d care.” 

Trying to find words to voice his thoughts proved impossible. How could you articulate such heartbreaking betrayal? 

He had never seen Henry’s eyes— usually so bright and warm and caring— look so terribly, horrifically cold. 

“Just remember, you made me this. You gave me the potential to stop caring.”

With those ominous words ringing in the silence— something about them seemed familiar, like Bendy had forgotten some important detail— Henry turned away to face what Bendy realized with growing horror was an actual _pile_ of toons. His friends, his employees, nothing more than bodies ready for slaughter. 

Bendy’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, his breath lodged in his throat. 

Henry seemed to come to some decision, one that lifted one corner of his mouth up in a wicked smirk as he looked back at him. “You know what would be fun?” he asked, approaching Bendy. “Making you feel them _die_ , so you can suffer for your sins.” 

Eyes flaring, Henry pressed a single finger against Bendy’s chest, over his racing heart. 

“Let’s see how you like it, pain worse than death but with no mercy waiting at the end of it.” And without giving Bendy a moment to even try and process that, Henry turned back, snatched up one of the unconscious toons, and slowly began to tear one of his victim’s arms off. 

There was a delay, a long second where Bendy thought maybe Henry had done something wrong, but then—

He shrieked, his body convulsing, as he felt his bones and cartilage creak under the unimaginable pressure, and a sharp, shearing pain wracked through him as his muscles stretched taut like a rubber band before snapping just as easily. Eyes clenched shut, his back bowed and he lost all sensation in his left hand, and it felt like ice was overtaking his shoulder in shards, piercing and severing his ink. 

With a popping _splat_ , the toon’s arm came off their body like a chicken wing being split open. Ink erupted over the trio from the force of it, and Bendy went limp as though paralyzed. He couldn’t move his arm— in fact, he couldn’t feel it at all. If he wasn’t capable of seeing it right there on his body, he would’ve believed without question that Henry had just torn his own off instead of someone else’s. 

Henry’s hand wrenched his body forward. “One down,” he whispered. “And so very many to go.”

Bendy couldn’t have contained his whimper if he’d tried. “Please,” he begged the angel. “Please don’t.”

Behind Henry, Joey spoke up for the first time in a while. “Why should we stop,” he snarled, “when you never did?” 

After releasing Bendy, Henry tossed the remains of the toon at his friend, who promptly began stuffing the corpse into an ink-filled container. “It’ll dissolve now that it ain’t stable anymore,” Joey said when he caught Bendy’s gaze. “Whoever that was will just melt away. You lot are almost even less alive than we are.” 

“Oh,” Henry said suddenly from where he was surveying the large pile of toons. “What have we here?” Watching the horror grow on Bendy’s face, he dragged Alice out from beneath someone else. “Look what Susie must’ve dragged in.” 

“Henry, _please_ ,” Bendy begged him. “Please, you can do whatever you want with me, just— please stop hurting them!”

“Don’t you get it?” With a careless flick of his wrist, Henry sent Alice’s halo spinning upwards, where it zinged to hover over his own larger one. “I’m already doing whatever I want with you.” Turning to Joey, Henry shook Alice’s body. “Got any suggestions?”

Maintaining eye contact with Bendy, Joey said, “Tear her throat out.” 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Henry wrapped his hand around Alice’s slim neck. He paused there, motionless, and for every silent second that passed, Bendy grew more and more tense. He could barely even see with the way his tears were blurring his vision, but Henry had already made sure that wouldn’t be a problem, hadn’t he?

Why watch the systematic destruction of everyone Bendy had ever known and cared about, when he could feel it all instead?

Henry’s fingers dug into her ink like claws, and he buried them deeper and deeper to the sound of Bendy’s cracking scream. 

It felt like hot pokers ramming through his throat, colliding and searing his insides. His voice faded in and out and his body understood his vocal cords to be slowly ripped free like fragile threads being snapped. The pain extended into his head, and the back of his mouth began to peel away like flimsy paper, following after the bulk of his throat. His spine bent as Henry dug even farther in, as though trying to full on decapitate him by simply ripping away everything between his head and body, for as little as he had there in comparison to Alice. 

His head lolled brokenly as Alice’s ink splattered over him, her own head connected to her body by only the thinnest of threads. 

The world faded in and out around him, disjointed and blurry. If Henry and Joey were talking, Bendy couldn’t hear it. 

With no way to tell how much time was passing, much less if he was even truly conscious as the minutes ticked by, Bendy just sort of floated. What little of his mind that was still working kept replaying the last few moments like a looped cartoon scene. 

They were gone. They were all gone. Alice, taken so completely right in front of him, Boris was who knew where, and so many familiar faces had stared dead-eyed up at him from the pile of soon-to-be and already-were corpses. 

A dull pain started in his lower stomach, weak and almost pleasant compared to having his throat torn out. The pain gradually grew until his body moved without his input, hunching as much as he could in his restraints, curling around the sharp, pulsing sensation. He groaned and began to come back to himself. 

It felt like something was trying to break out of his gut, like a bomb was going off in slow motion, tearing him apart without killing him. 

He heard laughter right in front of him, and through his slowly diminishing willpower, Bendy managed to raise his head.

Sitting on the floor, Henry grinned back at him. Beside him, Joey was happily digging through the gory mess of a toon’s torso. 

“Thought you’d given up on us,” Henry said, “so we decided to give you a little wake up call.”

Joey twisted his hand, and Bendy cried out as the pain briefly spiked, something in him bursting like a balloon that was squeezed too hard. 

“You missed it,” Henry continued. “While you were taking your nap, Sammy and Wally stopped by with Boris. Of course, Boris was already dead— Sammy tore his heart out to save Wally, wasn’t that nice of him?— but that means all the Creators have been accounted for.” He smiled at Bendy with his treacherous _isn’t everything wonderful_ smile.

Bendy dropped his head, curling up again. 

“Are you having fun, Joey?” he heard Henry ask. There wasn’t a verbal answer, but from the way Bendy’s insides burned, he could take a good guess. 

Drained in a way he’d never felt before, of life and hope and any will to live, Bendy tried to let go, tried to just slip away. It was surprisingly easy. Darkness, pain-free and deep, crept over him like a living thing. 

“Oh, Creator,” he heard Henry say. “Leaving so soon? We’ve only just barely gotten started.” 

He ignored him, and forced himself further away from this living nightmare. 

“Bendy,” Henry said, his tone full of dangerous warning. “Stop it.”

Hands wrapped around his shoulders and gave him a firm shake. Strangely enough, though, the action was gentle.

“Bendy?” 

It had to have been working. Henry’s voice sounded so far away. Was he dying, or just losing consciousness?  

“Bendy!” 

All at once, it felt like his bonds had melted away, and without so much as thinking about it, he swiped at the menacing figure he felt leaning over him. Henry managed to dodge the attack aimed at his chest, but Bendy’s right hand connected with his face. 

In that moment, he woke up. 

Falling over himself, he scrambled blindly away from a hoarse, pained cry, fully expecting to see a mutilated toon that hadn’t been unconscious to the world before being ripped apart by either Henry or Joey. 

Instead, he was faced with a room empty of corpses. Even Joey had vanished, nothing more than a fading remnant of a nightmare, leaving only Henry in sight, kneeling on the floor. He was hunched over, clutching the left side of his face.

The pain was gone, Bendy realized. He could move again. It was only a dream. 

Nevertheless, he refused to take his eyes of the angel before him. Panting harshly into the silence, he waited for some sign, something to tell him that he was for sure where he should be. His heart felt ready to burst out of his chest.

After a minute, Henry slowly straightened, unerringly turning to face Bendy even before his head was fully raised. He’d done that before, Bendy knew— he seemed to have some innate ability to always know exactly where his Creator was— but it’d never unnerved him so much as it did right then. 

In his mind’s eye, he saw Henry cold eyes and cruel smile. Could he actually escape a creature that could track him so easily? Had he sealed his fate when he brought Henry to life? 

A flash of color that didn’t belong dragged him away from the question lingering at the edge of his mind— could he even trust Henry? His eyes widened at the sight of the angel. 

Three long, deep gashes were carved into his face, grotesquely splitting his skin. The topmost started at a high point of Henry’s hairline, cutting down through his eyebrow and over the bridge of his nose. The second went from his temple to top lip, narrowly missing his eye. The third split his lower cheek from the edge of his jaw to the corner of his mouth, fully puncturing the skin in some places, displaying the edges of his teeth. Crimson oozed from each, dripping soundlessly to splatter on the floor. 

“Bendy?”

Bendy tore his transfixed gaze away from the jagged wounds to meet Henry’s eyes. For a moment, he thought he could see fear within them.

Fear of him? But— but Henry was the monster. He was the one going behind Bendy’s back, fraternizing with the enemy, he was the one planning to hurt Bendy and all his friends. 

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling something sticky on them. He looked down, and without feeling guilty like he expected, saw the terrible red smeared across a hand that wasn’t familiar to him. There were even bits of skin caught beneath his claws.

Claws?

Finally taking in the rest of himself, Bendy realized he was larger. More human proportioned, with longer limbs and sharper angles. Going by the length of his legs, spindly as they were, he’d guess that he’d tower over any of the humans. 

The first thought that entered his mind was _good, then I’ll be able to defend myself when Henry turns on me._

When, not if. He knew now, he understood, what his creations were capable of. 

“Are you all right?” Henry asked quietly. He didn’t move from his position on the floor, carefully watching Bendy. “You started screaming in your sleep.” 

Instead of answering, Bendy shot back, “Why were you awake?” 

Giving him a strange look, Henry slowly stood, flexing his wings. “I was on first watch, like we talked about.” He made an aborted reach for his injured face before repeating, “Are you all right?” 

Bendy stared at him long enough for Henry to narrow his eyes. What was going through his creation’s head? “I’m fine,” he finally said. 

“Wrong answer.” Henry stepped forward, though he immediately drew up to a halt when Bendy flinched away. “Bendy? What did you see?” 

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

Brows furrowed, Henry shook his head. “You’re not acting like yourself.” 

Struggling to his feet— made difficult by both the tremors leftover from his nightmare and the new, strange limbs— he snapped, “And how would you know, huh?”

Hurt flashed across Henry’s face and he recoiled slightly. “Bendy—”

“How did this even happen?” Bendy asked, gesturing sharply at himself. He’d been right. He practically dwarfed Henry the way the angel did to him normally. 

Each word spoken carefully, as though expecting something to set Bendy off, Henry explained, “The ink— your ink— is malleable. That’s why Joey and the others want it.” He nodded at Bendy. “New bodies. I suppose whatever you saw in your dream was enough to make you…” 

He trailed off for a moment before whispering with a half-hearted shrug, “A defense mechanism, I’d guess.” 

Bendy nodded silently. He wondered if he should try returning to his normal body. 

After watching him for a few long seconds, Henry fiddled with the edge of his wing. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? It’s supposed to help. Anything, please,” he nearly begged, looking like he desperately wanted to reach out to his Creator.

A day ago— even just a few hours ago— Bendy would barely have hesitated to confide in Henry, to accept whatever comfort the angel might offer, whether in the form of a wing hug or words of reassurance. But now, all he could see was the gory damage those hands were capable of. 

“I don’t really remember what it was about,” Bendy said, fully aware that it didn’t sound even halfway convincing. Far be it from him to spill his guts— metaphorically this time— only to have Henry smugly confirm his worst fears. Unless, well. With Henry still obviously shaken and injured, and Bendy being so much larger— would it be better to confront him now and deal with the consequences while he had the advantage?

“Do you want to try and go back to sleep?” Henry asked, oblivious to Bendy’s internal debate. There was still doubt in his eyes, but he seemed willing to look past this whole incident. “Or do you want to keep moving?”

“Let’s walk for a bit,” Bendy said. Anything to keep him from being trapped in a confined space with the angel. 

Taking a deep breath, Henry nodded and headed for the door, holding it open for Bendy as he always did. But that would put Henry behind Bendy while they walked, and— yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. 

“You first,” Bendy said, leaving no room for argument. 

Henry’s wings tensed up in what he recognized as a defensive action, and Bendy knew. He knew that Henry got the message— that Henry was a large part of the problem. He knew that in those two words, he’d managed to fracture the friendship that’d been growing between them. He knew that if Henry truly was plotting against him, he wasn’t doing himself any favors, and might even be solidifying Henry’s decision to betray him. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to care. As he followed Henry into the hallway, his own body feeling so unfamiliar, he wondered— which of them was the real monster?


	8. All Who Wander are Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First there was you. And then you were lied to, or stolen, or left behind. You—everything that made you you—were, was, is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some gentle angst, my friends! This started as a little experiment with second person and present tense, but I decided I liked it enough to share it. Hope you guys enjoy!

First there was you. And then you were lied to, or stolen, or left behind. You—everything that made you _you_ —were, was, is **lost**.

So, first there was ink. And for a long time, that’s all there ever was.

You don’t really remember waking up in the light. There’s a faint, blurry memory of pain—for a moment you had almost wished you were back in the darkness, surrounded by half-familiar voices and where you were never alone—but for the first time, you aren’t drowning in screams.

It’s peaceful, despite how much it hurts, and you wonder if this is what it is to be alive.

Pushing yourself to your feet is strange, because the movement is almost recognizable, but you can’t remember having a body before just now. Your legs seem to know what to do, even as the scraps of your mind panic at being upright.

Your hands press and push and drag against the walls for support as you stumble around, leaving thick black smudges behind. The hallways are long and empty, and there’s a desire you can’t articulate burning in you that demands you seek out another living thing.

There’s no way to track time as you wander, even if you had a solid understanding of what time was. As it is, you only associate the words _tick tock, tick tock_ with the idea of it. So, when you finally encounter someone else, you have no idea how long you’ve been alone.

Solitude is both new and not new, and you both hate and love it. It’s a hot-cold sensation in your chest, and it hurts.

An instinct in you says that the creature standing before you is just like you. Black and drippy and somewhat recognizable in a way that clogs the remains of your throat. Their eyes burn at you, brighter than the buzzing lightbulbs above your heads. They shiver and their shoulders curl inwards. After staring at one another for what might’ve been a long time, they lower their head and go back to shuffling their feet against the floor. There’s a steadily growing puddle of ink below them.

You leave them there. The need to keep going is strong, and if the other one wants to stay in that room, then you’ll just have to find someone else to wander with.

What serves as your life passes with every new floor, new-old creature, new walls. You briefly meet another that is both like you and not like you. He makes a lot of noise, and wears a false face, and he barely pays you any attention at first.

When you try to imitate the pretty sounds he makes on the strangely shaped box in a corner, pressing the thin white-black buttons, he’s suddenly a lot more interested in you. Words, dark and excited and familiar, fill you with panic.

You’re not exactly sure what a sacrifice is, but the thought of it makes you melt uncontrollably. You shake and shiver and trudge away as soon as the like-you, not-like-you creature turns his back. It’s the fastest you’ve ever moved, and the cold, burning sensation inside makes you mourns your returned loneliness.

Quite by accident, you find yourself moving through strange tunnels instead of more corridors that bleed ink. And it’s not long after that that you hear something that sounds familiar.

It takes you a moment, but you finally place the noise as humming. You can’t do it yourself, but someone down here obviously can.

This is how you meet your friend. He has a very lovely hat.

• • • • •

Your friend is never too quiet or too loud. He hums to you as the two of you wander the halls, dragging himself along the floor next to your stumbling feet. Since finding him, you’ve never been apart.

Sometimes, you almost recognize the tunes that vibrate out of his hunched body. Your arms shift and your fingers twitch and your fused toes tap a beat, and you are painfully reminded of the broken instruments littering some of the other floors. It makes your head hurt, trying to think of things like that, but you can’t help it sometimes.

You get the feeling that your friend suffers similarly. Strange gurgles escape his hanging jaw, and with the rhythm of the incomprehensible noises, you’re sure he’s trying to accompany his humming with words.

Nothing much happens as you travel, but it doesn’t bother you. This is the way it’s always been, after all. There’s a screaming voice that echoes out of the ceiling every now and then, and you can hear the anger and fear in the syllables as they rise and fall, even if you can’t comprehend what the voice is saying.

Ink seeps across the walls near you one day like shadows, and your friend with the lovely hat makes a very distressed noise in the split second before you die.

There’s ink, ink, and more ink. Screaming, wailing, the pain of being pressed into-against-within countless others that are as trapped as you are. You lose yourself again and again and again until you—

First there is ink. And then there is you.

Waking up is a muddled and blurry experience. There is pain, and there is light, and you almost kind of wish you were back in the dark. It takes you a long time to notice, but you’re all curled up on the floor, back pressed against something that’s both stiff and pliable. It’s curved over you, molded to your skeletal frame.

Then you hear the humming. You open your sad, burning eyes and see a creature half on top of you. What really catches your attention is its very lovely hat.

It—he—gurgles at you, and you think, _friend_.

Once you’ve managed to push yourself to your feet—the movement is strangely familiar, and it feels like your body knows what it’s doing better than you do—you start trudging down the nearest corridor, and your new friend with the nice humming and the lovely hat drags himself along beside you.

The hallways are long and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Lost Ones and honestly, it was about time I wrote something for them. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought! :)


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